Mnemonic
by Zenelly
Summary: Zexion, analytical, proud, observant, decides to keep a journal, marking down his observations of the people he knows. But then one particular newcomer catches his eye... ZEMYX, AkuRoku, RikuSora, and Vexia.
1. A Discourse on Roommates

**Disclaimers:** Really, take a look at this. If I owned Kingdom Hearts, it would've been a much different game. Possibly involving dating. That would've been fun!

**Author's Notes: **Well, this is going up after sometime, so don't worry. I had a lot of fun writing it. Thinking like Zexion let me get my wordiness out, which helps with my writing in general. I'm also tackling two of my worst problems in writing at once! They're known as First Person POV, and Present Tense. I've always had problems with them, despite the fact that it's the 'most natural' style of writing, since it is how we speak. *sighs*Damn you present tense, and damn you First Person…. *Shakes fist*

**Dedications: Evil-Pixie-Dust.** Who's a good beta? You are! Yes you are! And no, I'm totally not thinking that like how I talk to my dog. I love you, babe. _ Really. **Dualism**, who makes me want to try a story in second person, which I've never done before. First time for everything?

This was…actually a lot of fun. There's a scene later on (not even in this chapter) that started this entire fic, though it wasn't originally supposed to be in first person. It morphed into that, and well, I like it better this way. Probably will be around three chapters, maybe four. It won't be as long as _Silence is Golden_, which is currently my love-child, though its chapters are being a little difficult.

AND WE BEGIN THE JOURNEY INTO ZEXION'S BRAAAAIIIINNNN….

* * *

I am uncertain on how I should begin this. Axel, the conniving flat-mate that he is, decided that I wasn't talking enough, and so he bought me this journal to…tell stories about myself. I fail to see the point. I already know everything there is to know pertaining to me. What is the point to write it all down in a book? Other people might see it, and …well, perhaps that_ is_ the point, but no one will actually read this. Even so, I will write this as though I were speaking to someone. Perhaps that will be easier for me to understand should I choose to read it again. Biographies are interesting, but only when written by interesting people.

Not everyone is as egotistical as Axel, though he refuses to acknowledge that fact with a determination that is almost holy in its intensity.

Sometimes, I wonder what Roxas sees in him, beyond his rakish charm and occasional insight.

So, instead of talking about myself, I have just decided to write about everyone else I know. I am too introspective by half, and I don't need to look in this book to remind myself of that, or to see how I have changed over the years. It is enough to know I have. I want no reminders of how young and idiotic I used to be.

Others though, others I need reminders of how they react to certain situations, that way I know when they're lying and I can predict their reactions to information being presented in different ways. Maybe that sounds too cynical, but the study of others is what has kept me on my toes, and in the good graces of a great many people. But in order for anyone, myself included, to understand the thought process I go through, one does actually need to know me, unfortunately. We will begin with the basics.

I am Zexion.

I am five-and-twenty years of age, which may be an archaic way of stating it, but it flows much better than just twenty-five years old. That, in and of itself, should tell you a lot about me. I have a profound appreciation for those things beautiful and unusual, preferably found together and not apart. There are very few things in this world that I cannot figure out with a certain amount of time spent studying them. I am overly analytical and am skeptical of most soft emotions, love in particular. I have found that people do stupid things in the name of 'love'. They kill, they rape, they kidnap, and they ruin the rest of their lives for a fleeting happiness. Most importantly, they lose all semblance of common sense. I cannot understand why they continue with such madness.

Surely such a supposedly happy emotion couldn't really be that overwhelming. Hate, yes. Hate twists people, bends them, breaks them. Envy corrupts them, avarice controls them, and lust eggs them on to more depravity. Love though? It cannot hold such power. Not even from a mother to her child.

On to other topics, now. That last part made me seem like I have no heart, and I would like to assure you that I do. It's beating in my chest right now, but never before has it beaten for someone else. I speak from a lack of experience, which is probably one of my chief regrets in my years of life so far. There hasn't been anyone before whom I have found attractive, and all the research and reading in the world pales in comparison to real-world understanding. Especially in matters of the heart. No matter how vividly someone describes joy to you, you will never understand it until you yourself feel it.

This is why I don't write about myself. I never seem to make any sense.

That scheming Axel… He remembered my hatred of defiling books. I cannot simply tear out these pages, or even cross out what I have written. I have a deep and abiding adoration of books. The smell of them, leather and paper and glue and ink, smells like home to me.

Some acquaintances of mine would make a joke about me being born in a library for that last remark.

Foolish people. That's just unsanitary, and my mother was far more intelligent than that.

Something a bit more physical, I suppose, and then we will be ready to move on. I wear baggy, too-large clothes when no one else is around and I don't expect to change that anytime soon. They are far more comfortable than most other clothes, in my opinion. When I am in the company of others I wear fitted shirts and simple jeans or slacks. Few people have seen me in anything else, and those people are limited to Axel and Roxas, really. Appearances are important to a certain extent, and I _always_ attempt to appear professional.

The rest of a person is made in how they act. I have been told that I am intimidating, since I do not allow emotions on my face, nor do I seem to care much about what others think. I do care, in case you are wondering. But only about two things.

It is important that I either be respected or feared.

Perhaps the fact that Axel and Roxas will do neither is the reason I keep them around.

I will end here for the night. Perhaps tomorrow, we shall begin on my redheaded flat-mate. He is certainly…interesting, if nothing else.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_A man stands, sighing as he shakes his head and stretches his fingers. His roommate is not home yet and the apartment is dark; he likes it that way. Changing his clothes to something more suited for sleeping, he wanders aimlessly from room to room, finally ending up back where he began. Despite his weariness, the man stares out the window at the moon and stars, dark eyes examining their colors and forms._

_He is there for many hours._

* * *

I believe I mentioned that today I would start on my analysis of Axel. He is an intriguing person, and I have no doubt that most of you reading this will find him actually quite likable and charming, but trust me when I say that one only thinks that when one does not have to come into physical contact with him, or have to worry about his sharp wit being aimed at you.

Axel and I first met in college. We were roommates, though if Marluxia had not been there as well, one of us probably would have died. It was a hard time. Axel was far too used to getting his own way, and he was even more of an arrogant asshole than he is today. Meeting Roxas has mellowed him out a bit, if only because his little blonde lover is not above cutting off sex in order to … dissuade certain behaviors.

I am jumping around too much. Let me try again.

Axel was a pathological liar, to a certain extent. He didn't lie about everything all of the time, but he did lie about a lot of things to most everyone. Even the people closest to him (by whom I mean, Marluxia and Saïx, his childhood friends) were very rarely able to get the entire truth from him. There was a different version for every person, though he so closely interwove the truth and the lies that it took a complete outsider, me in this case, to even realize what he was doing.

His friend Saïx had gone to a different college, and I think that loss accounted for a great deal of Axel's snippy behavior in the first couple of weeks. He lied to Marluxia about him being lonely, he lied to me about caring, he even lied about ever knowing a person named Saïx, and he constantly tried to get me kicked out of the dorms. It was an interesting experience, one he only stopped after I tied him to his bed in his sleep so that I could keep him still long enough to face him down.

I believe I will transcribe that incident here.

It is, after all, an amusing thing in retrospect.

I sat on top of my sleeping roommate, waiting for him to register the weight on his abdomen. Finally, he snorted awake, and almost immediately began straining at the bonds on his wrists and ankles. I rolled my eyes and jabbed him in the cheek to get him to stop moving.

'Now listen to me, and listen well, Axel. As entertaining as it is to continually get to convince the RAs that I'm not the one who's always setting the toilets on fire, no matter whose initials the flames spell, I'm getting quite tired of this. You need to stop. It is no longer fun, and is mostly a hassle.' I sat back slightly and crossed my arms, staring at him in an analytical manner that I knew scared most people, 'I trust you, you know.'

That sentence made him stop struggling. He blinked up at me with those too-green eyes. 'What?' he whispered.

'I trust you. Oh, I know you lie all the time, but you never pretend you don't. If you get caught lying, you don't deny it.' I raised one eyebrow, murmuring, 'It's refreshing. Now stop trying to get me kicked out of the dorms and I'll try to help you get your lying problem under control.'

He was silent. I jabbed him in the chest, and finally, he agreed.

Axel began laughing after that, and made me promise to never tie him to his own bed again. It still brings a small smile to my face, to hear him laugh that same, truly happy sound. Too often, his laughs are more like snorts, or snickers, and are too cynical.

That was the beginning of our…rather odd friendship, if you consider that it literally was based on lies.

And Axel doesn't lie as much anymore. He told me one day that he no longer feels as though he has to. I suspect Roxas had more to do with it than I did.

A few of you might be wondering about Marluxia at this point. He is a rather likable person, and Axel still calls him whenever he gets an hour or two to spare. No one really expected him to be as independent and wealthy as he is. Marluxia owns and runs his own 'apothecary', though it would be fairer to call it a medicine-supply shop.

Then again, with his almost-husband, Vexen, cooking up God-knows-what in the back, perhaps apothecary is the correct term after all.

No one really knows how that couple started. In fact, we only even knew that Doctor Vexen, our old chemistry professor from college, began sleeping with Marluxia because of two simple clues.

One, Marluxia, long since known as the school's slut, had stopped sleeping around.

Two, he came home one time with proof of Vexen's skill with chemistry and his tongue on his neck and shoulders.

It's not really as bad as it sounds, though how Vexen came up with a skin dye that wasn't toxic if swallowed remains unclear, though impressive. Marluxia had no idea it was there, or if he noticed it, he only glanced at it after he put on his jacket. And from that angle, it only looked like a typical love bite.

Really, one would think that _'Property of Vexen'_ would be a little hard to miss. But our Chemistry Professor is nothing if not cunning. And apparently skilled with his tongue, though I never needed to know that.

How he managed to write that legibly with his tongue…. That is another thing I do not need to know.

Theirs has been a lasting relationship, despite some rough starts, and now, almost four years later, they are married in every way except legally. They are married in the only way that really matters: They say they are in love and are faithful to each other.

I find myself happy for them.

Back to my roommate, however.

Axel is an extraordinarily dedicated person to those he deems 'his', and despite his relatively extroverted and friendly nature, it is actually quite difficult to become one of those people. Most are turned away by the lying, the rest by his acidic tongue. The rare few who see beyond that are gifted with a surprisingly deep loyalty. Lying is just part of who Axel is, and I have learned that he will not lie about anything truly important. He might skirt around the truth and riddle his way about it, but he will never lie.

I am glad for that. His strange brand of honesty has made it easier for me to realize that he cares for people, which in turn allowed me to consider him a friend in return.

Also, while Axel is a flirt, his pursuit of Roxas was nothing short of dedicated. It was a slow seduction, and one Roxas barely even noticed until the redheaded fool actually kissed him. Even though Axel earned a sucker-punch to the groin for that stunt, to this day he swears it was worth it. Seeing how happy they are together makes me almost believe him. Axel and Roxas deserve their own brand of dysfunctional joy.

Though they would probably say the same about me.

That is a thought for another time. For now, more on the redheaded annoyance.

As I've stated numerous times, Axel has red hair. But it's not the gentle copper that most people think of when someone says redhead. It is fire-truck red, ripe apple red, expensive Ferrari red, if you will. Somehow, it's even natural, and the genetics involved in that make even my head hurt. His eyes are a green too fierce to be called emerald, and too bright to be anything else. They always look feverish and are in perpetual motion, darting sidelong sardonic glances at everything in sight. He sleeps on his side, and until Roxas showed up, I never realized that he had always curled as if he were wrapped around another person.

He's tall, too tall in my opinion, and made of legs, arms, and bones. There's nothing extra on his body, and he's a model of lean elegance, walking as though he owns the world, despite his almost too-thin frame. In a certain, predatory way, I suppose he could be considered attractive. It's all a matter of personal taste, I suppose, since the soundproofing work done on Axel and Roxas's room – as well as the numerous times they've had to replace some piece of furniture- indicate that Roxas finds him _very_ attractive indeed.

I'm sure anyone reading this has noticed the numerous references to a person named Roxas. Roxas is Axel's boyfriend of two and a half years. And he will be my subject for tomorrow evening. It is getting quite late, and I do have work tomorrow, after all.

Farewell for the time being.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Leaning back in his chair, the pale man stares quietly at the flicker of lights on the walls. He tilts his head slightly, as though listening to someone speak, before standing and getting ready for bed. As the man goes through the apartment and turns off all the lights, he stops at a door that leads to another's room. _

_Placing a hand on the door, he hears soft noises, the sounds of sleeping. A smile that has never seen the light of day crosses his face, and he pads back to his room, content in the knowledge that his roommates are together yet again._

_He sleeps soundly, the name of someone he has not yet met dropping silently from his lips._

* * *

There isn't really a good way to try and ease you into this topic today, so we'll just have to jump right in. Forgive me for any abruptness; it's been a long day at the library.

Roxas is an enigma. Truly, he is, and I do not say that about many people. The small blonde is quiet, sarcastic, caustic, kind, and strangely intelligent. That isn't to say he's stupid, far from it in fact. He's just not conventionally intelligent. The 'kid', as Axel called him when they first met, is an absolute genius when it comes to graffiti art. It's a strange subject, but he seems to understand it instinctively, and can draw anything at the drop of a hat as long as he is properly inspired.

His latest muse is, not surprisingly, his lover, Axel. The pieces he comes up with now are very emotive, and I find a strange sort of sad beauty in them. Perhaps that is a remnant of his earlier part of his relationship with the redhead, where he was expecting to be left at every possible opportunity. Roxas has a skewed sense of his own self-worth, though that is changing now.

But, I digress.

Roxas is not someone who backs down from a challenge. If one is placed in front of him, he sometimes goes to extreme lengths to prove that he can do it, but he doesn't always rush blindly into a situation. The blonde is willing to step back and evaluate before he goes in, so he typically has a plan, unlike his helter-skelter lover, who seems to delight in making up workable plots on the fly.

His twin brother, Sora, was better known as the sweetheart when they were in school, but Roxas had his own type of notoriety. He was the 'take-no-shit' type back then, and time hasn't changed that much, only made him better at hiding it behind layers of falsely polite sarcasm. I only know this much from the stories the twins tell, though. We met him in college, and it was quite an unconventional meeting.

After all, it's not every day you get stuck in an elevator with a feisty blonde, though those are Axel's words and not mine.

I was in a conference at the time; otherwise none of this would have happened. Axel had come with me and, as is his nature, became dreadfully bored. He slipped out of the room without me noticing and apparently decided to try and ride all the elevators in the hotel before the meeting finished. For about twenty minutes, he just took them up and down, looking out the glass to the lobby and running down the hallways to the next elevator.

Then Roxas got on one with him.

And, of course, the power went out.

Surprisingly enough, Axel actually did _not _immediately try and molest Roxas the second he had opportunity. They casually joked about the situation, traded stories, talked about themselves, each other, everything else. Nothing happened that was the least bit perverted, which is what Axel normally would have been doing.

The fact that Roxas is deathly afraid of falling probably had something to do with that.

Though it also could be that Axel might actually have some sense of decorum and knew better than to try anything in an elevator that could start up any second.

…Upon reexamination of that last statement, perhaps not.

Anyway, from what I have gathered of the situation, the power went out and Roxas steadily grew more panicked. Axel simply tried talking to him to get the blonde's mind off of falling. It worked quite well, and a few days later, we found a harassed looking blue-eyed set of twins outside our door, the brunette one insisting that he know which of us stopped Roxas from having a panic attack. We thought that would be the end of it, only then Axel wondered how the blonde was doing. The two of them started a cautious sort of circling acquaintance that dragged all four of us into it.

By which I mean this: They began a series of brief encounters that were a delight in push-and-pull dynamics. One would make an advance, brush against the other, and then retreat the second the other responded. Repeat for a while and begin to extend the length of time they stayed in contact until finally the twins were firmly ensconced in our lives.

Sora and Roxas haven't really left since.

It is important that I tell you who Sora is, as well. He is irrevocably twined with his brother as they are braided together so tightly it is sometimes hard to see where one leaves off and the other begins. They are similar in interests, though their methods differ. However, they are both famously protective, tough Sora is more liberal in his choices of who to protect.

He is currently dating a boy named Riku, who is like a silver-haired, younger, less caustic version of Axel, in my opinion. That being said, Riku is sometimes easier to deal with, but he is also less predictable. Roxas still doesn't approve of his twin's choice and spends his time around Sora's boyfriend heckling the boy, which leads Axel to do the same. So Riku and Axel and Roxas don't get along very well, and it's only Sora's calming presence that keeps them from ripping each other's throats out.

They are a completely different sort of couple than Roxas and Axel, to be fair. Sora and Riku are codependent. What one of them lacks, the other will make up for. Riku is quick to hate, and slow to forgive, whereas Sora takes that in reverse. Sometimes the brunette is _too_ lenient on those who have done him wrong, but that is simply who he is. Axel and Roxas compete with each other, in a way. Theirs is a dynamic relationship that burns brightly and feeds from both the partners, where Sora and Riku are a gentle light reflected in mirrors to become brighter and brighter.

Either way, their respective partners bring out the best in all four of them. No matter what any others think.

When they first met, apparently Riku and Sora didn't quite get along, by all reports. They were the schoolboy rivals for the first two years of their college life, and that led to a series of almost-fights which somehow brought them to where they are now. According to Roxas, he fell asleep one night with Sora ranting about Riku and how much he hated the silver-haired boy, and woke up the next morning to his twin telling him that they were now dating. I don't doubt the truth of this statement. Sora, once he realizes something, does not know the word 'hesitation'. Riku was startled too, but he decided to see where this new feeling would lead them. I do have the suspicion that Riku would never willingly hurt Sora, unless it was through some mistaken idea that he would protect the brunette from a greater harm. Sora calls it 'sweet'. I say impractical. He should stay by Sora's side no matter what. That is what will always help the sunny brunette most.

But then again, Riku has a hard time believing that Sora still likes him.

Strange boy, that one.

Roxas and Sora are both diminutive in stature, standing only to the level of my eyes. They have the same color eyes, a haunting and captivating shade of blue, though Sora's seem more like midday sky and I've never been quite sure what Roxas's remind me of. Roxas has vibrant blonde hair, spiked to fall against his face before rising up above his right eye and leading a trail of spikes back down his head. He favors wearing black and white, which is a good indication of how he views the world. Or at least, how he _wants_ to view the world. Something tells me he is well aware of all the shades of grey.

Axel says that Roxas has the sexier voice between the twins. I am unsure if this is true, as I believe my preferences do _not_ lie in the same direction as that menace. The menace being Axel, of course. I do know that Sora has a lovely laugh, full of bells. On the other hand, Roxas's laugh is coated in emotions that are too numerous to place, and it sounds like crystal.

It has been a longer day than I realized if I'm waxing lyrical on my charges' laughs.

If you are wondering about that last statement, I have adopted the twins, in my own way. It was a compulsion in me, since I look out for them as though they were my family anyway. So they are my charges, my brothers. Axel and Riku are still just the boyfriends, which means they are free game for harassment and threatening.

There is just…something about the twins that makes you want to protect them.

Such hope.

Such love.

I know not, but I do know I need sleep. Last night was not nearly restful enough. I am not sure when I shall pick this up again, as that was the end of my analysis of Roxas.

We shall see, I suppose.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The pale man closes the book and sets down his pen with a sigh of weariness. Flicking off the lamp, he is plunged into shadows. He stands, dresses for bed. His nightly ritual of walking the apartment to make sure everything is where it should be begins, though he ends it paused by the window, staring over the city beneath him, at the moon hanging, low and swollen against the horizon. _

_His face is still, calm, as unmoving as the surface of stone, and is carved half in ebony, half in porcelain, pale and dark from the moon's reflected light._

_There is no telling what his thoughts are as he stands there, silently watching the sleeping city. Ink-stained hands rise to brush his hair back in a reflexive movement before he returns to his room, sliding under cool sheets and pressing his face to a pillow that smells of sleep._

_He is dreaming within moments._

* * *

I haven't picked this up in a while, about three weeks or so. There didn't seem to be much to talk about after I've explained my acquaintances' characteristics. Today, however, someone new has entered the stage.

He is a musician, though the proper term is probably 'bard' or 'minstrel'. He wanders from place to place within this city, and has recently struck up a friendship with Axel. Despite the fact that Axel has spoken of him often, today was my first time meeting him.

First impressions to begin with.

He has sandy blonde hair -unlike Roxas, whose hair is sunlight blonde- and it is styled extensively into a faux-hawk. His bangs seem like fly-aways from the rest of his hair, and they fall in random accents across his face. His smile is as sunlight, bright and quick and warming, though there seem to be variations to it that I cannot, as of yet, properly identify.

It is his eyes, however, that have drawn my interest.

They are not blue, not green, nor any true shade betwixt the two, but rather seem to be the ever-changing color of the sea. On the surface, they hold only enjoyment and happiness. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but something in them gave me pause.

Beneath the obvious lust for life is a strange flickering sadness and loneliness. It only appeared twice during my observation earlier this evening. Both times were during moments where Axel and Roxas were yet again displaying their strange brand of 'couple telepathy', as I have named it. This phenomenon only proves how well they know each other, and how accustomed they are to each other's presence. Never do they seem to take it granted, though. Every time it is used, their telepathy is again a source of wonder.

But it seems the blonde is saddened by its existence. I am wondering if it is because he doesn't like their displays of 'couple-dom' (which seems unlikely, since he was fine with any other declaration they made) or if he longs for something similar. It will be a delight to find out, and I believe that this journal is the perfect place to go into such things.

It seems I have a new subject.

His name is Demyx.

We shall begin on him tomorrow.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Placing his pen to the side, the violet-haired man stretches back in his chair before standing. As he walks around the apartment, he notices a blue wristband lying casually on the couch. He picks it up, twists it between his fingers for a few moments, and sets it gently on the side table. He knows it belongs to the odd musician._

_He wonders why it was left._

_Leaving such matters to the morning light, he quickly finishes his rounds, retreating to his room. He falls asleep quickly, curled on his back. He has dreams he will not remember when he wakes up. All he will remember is the feel of waves, the taste of saltwater and blue-green eyes that contain the ocean and all the mysteries therein._

_It is a long night, filled with long dreams._

* * *

To be continued….

Well, obviously, since I can't just leave it there. *sweatdrops*

Unlike _Silence is Golden_, I'm not going to have the numbered Author's Comments in the middle of the journals. I think that would just detract from the whole work (since it is supposed to be as if Zexion himself is writing this), and it doesn't sit in well. But there are a few notes!

1 – Zexion Illuminatus – No, this is not his actual last name. I can see Zexion using this as a sort of moniker for his own writing. It means 'one who has achieved enlightenment'. The connection to that terrorist group in _Angels and Demons_ is only superficial, I promise.

2 – The wristband – …can anyone say _foreshadowing…_*dramatic music cue!*

Other than that, I'll answer any questions you might have. Except for "what's going to happen next?" because that one should only be answered by the rest of the story! *duck-faces*

So, see you all next chapter, either here or in _Silence is Golden!_


	2. Been Thinking About You

****

Disclaimer:

There are times where I think I could've written KH better. Seriously. "Kairi's inside me?" Not the best way to say it, since there's a few important couple of words missing there. (read: "heart is")

**Author's Notes:** Is it weird that I'm more proud of this than I am of _Silence is Golden_? In a different way? I love _SiG_, I mean, really, but this fic….I dunno, it hits some definitely different points. It's surprisingly hard to write a fic where you never actually see anything happen. Oh, and if you're going to wonder why I keep making Zexion drink tea, it's really because I like tea. Not for any other reason.

**Dedications: Evil-Pixie-Dust**, because I love her. And she is wonderful. And amazing, and wonderful, and I AM SO HAPPY THAT SHE IS SO HAPPY RECENTLY, AND YOU KNOW WHY BABE. To **onemoreparadise** on LJ, because she left me a really nice comment on the first chapter (and she's my new KH buddy on there!). To **Dualism**, who constantly makes me happy. Keep on rawking and rollin', Dual!

Aaaaand, onto the fic.

* * *

I do realize that I said _'tomorrow'_ in my last entry, but unfortunately, work and graduate school made that impossible. It has been around three weeks. We shall just begin immediately with my observations to make up for the lost time.

He comes over here frequently, at least three or four times a week, though never in any discernible pattern. They are laughter-filled times, as he is quite gregarious and enjoys telling stories about the people he's met and places he has been. Apparently, Axel and his new friend get along quite well, despite their differing views on life. Even Roxas has been charmed by his easy-going ways. I do not understand why they have accepted him so quickly, since they are both creatures of habit, and he doesn't seem like the sort of person they typically like. He's too erratic, too much of an ambiguity, and certainly one of the strangest people I have ever met.

Roxas does seem a little upset that I have adopted this stranger as my new project. Apparently, he doesn't approve of my 'compartmentalization' of people. I don't really consider it such, however. After all, I am constantly reevaluating people, so I'm not just putting them in a box to never reconsider.

But then again, Roxas is a little touchy about people who think they understand everything.

Sometimes, I really wonder what Axel did to get Roxas to fall in love with him. It seems like quite a Herculean task for someone as cocksure as Axel.

Back to Axel's new friend. He is nothing like anyone I've seen. He's…very varied. Like a mishmash of parts of the people I know, but nothing of the things that ties everyone else together. I'm not seeing what lies beneath him yet. Only what's reflected on the surface, as though he were some kind of … social chameleon, if you please, changing how he acts according to who he's around.

Though he is, in some respects, most similar to Sora. But so very different. Sora is more purely happy. The little brunette looks at the sky and smiles as if the fact that the sun is shining is enough reason to be in a good mood. Axel's friend just looks up and smiles. And it seems forced; like he's smiling because it is expected of him. Because he knows nothing else. No other way to act.

I wonder why that bothers me as much as it does.

Perhaps I have been spending too much time with Sora. That boy is a deceptively innocent tank of optimism that will slowly take over your own view on life until you find yourself smiling at small children and animals just like him.

After all, that's what happened to Riku.

It is getting quite late. Perhaps I will bring this journal to work in order to find some time to write in it, as it appears that I am usually too tired to continue writing in it at night. Yen Sid, the man who manages the library, shouldn't mind too much. I am his best worker, after all.

For now, good night.

_-Zexion Illuminatus- _

_Sighing into the golden, lamp-lit room, the man stretches ink-stained hands towards the ceiling with a low groan. His eyes are closed, the lines around them tight and weary. As he stands up, he idly closes the book he had been writing in, and turns off the lamp. For a moment, he simply stands there, almost feeling the darkness press against his skin like a living creature. _

_Then, he grabs his neatly folded bedclothes from his dresser, changes into them, wanders around the apartment before slipping between cool, slick sheets. He falls asleep with his hands curled close to his face, fingers half-closed around a blue wristband that smells of salt and sunlight._

_He never remembers having picked it up to begin with._

_

* * *

_

Never before have I understood the urge to never go back to school. I understand it now.

So much busywork and not enough time to do it all.

I am currently in the library, having finished with the typical sorting and shelving I am expected to do for my job. It is a rare moment of relaxation for me, as I am usually working until my shift ends. I believe I have mentioned previously how much I enjoy being around books, so working here isn't a chore for me. Even so, a chance to sit down and just breathe it all in is most welcome.

But waxing poetic over books is not the purpose of this journal.

Continuing on, then.

He ('he' being Axel's friend, that is) is a singularly intriguing person. He doesn't seem to have any sort of method to his madness, nor does he react to any situation like a normal person. I have almost never seen him without some sort of smile on his face. Despite this, I am sure he is not constantly happy. Some of his expressions seem quite…bitter at times. Self-mocking, if you will. For such an apparently cheerful character, he seems to have a problem with himself being happy.

As though…he does not quite deserve it.

Strange. Excuse me; I shall have to continue this at home. My shift is over, and I must leave now if I ever want to get back in time for dinner. Tonight is Roxas's turn at cooking, and he always makes delicious food.

Forgive me for the small break. On the drive back to my apartment, I remembered another detail about this new vagrant Axel has picked up.

He carries a bag around everywhere.

I do not know why this is important but I haven't seen him without it yet, and he guards it almost fiercely.

It is a ratty, almost-falling-apart blue and black backpack, where half of the zippers don't work anymore and the flaps are held closed by paperclips and safety pins. Stuff – and I do mean _stuff_, since there doesn't seem to be another way to categorize it – strains at every gap. I have seen a deck of playing cards, what appears to be a Erlenmeyer flask, some old photographs, a couple of books, a match case, countless pieces of papers all falling out of assorted folders, and old cans of soda in foreign languages in those gaps. The backpack itself has been drawn on with markers and has mud stains, food stains, grease stains, so many stains that I can't even name.

And yet he treasures it, goes nowhere without it. He could easily get a larger backpack, or at least a newer one, but it's obvious that he won't.

Yet another quirk in his personality.

Axel just thinks it's funny.

Speaking of Axel, actually, the biggest item I have to discuss today is about him. He's planning something, I know it. He always has a smug little grin hanging around the corners of his mouth whenever he's plotting, and, after knowing him for seven years, it's easy to spot.

Roxas probably knows that something is up as well. The last time this smirk appeared, the entire flat was nearly burned down.

Actually, that explains why I saw him moving all the breakable heirlooms to the higher shelves where there is less chance of them being hurt.

… I think I shall follow his example, excuse me.

Axel hides things as easily as he breathes, and it's hard to understand that he means no harm by it. This isn't to say that no harm ever comes of his secrets, since –more often than not- his schemes backfire in explosions that could put the military to shame.

I only wish the explosions were _just_ metaphorical. Too often are they real.

I have just come back from getting hot water for my tea. Their blonde friend is over again. It was earlier today when I remembered that he had left his wristband over here a month ago. I just tried to give it back to him, and he took it with a laugh, exclaiming that he had wondered where it had gone. At that, I informed him sternly that he needed to keep better track of his possessions. He simply nodded, blue-green gaze uncertainly watching me.

But that bizarre melancholy bubbled to the surface of his eyes. It seems a strange thing to become maudlin over –me giving him back his wristband-, but everything about this newcomer seems strange. The feeling he gives me is like nothing I've known, and I can't help but want to pry him apart to see how he works. The blonde seems so very at ease with everything when I don't manage to get under his skin with a single acerbic comment that I almost…

…How strange.

I almost feel guilty for it.

That is not a feeling with which I am accustomed. There seems to be more to him than I have previously suspected, if he is able to engender such a response in the short amount of time I have been observing him.

…He is a most bizarre person….

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The pale man slowly shuts his book, tilting his head towards the sounds of laughter coming from the living room. He hears the low purring sound of his redheaded roommate, covered by the crystalline laugh of the small blonde._

_Over both of these familiar sounds however, is the bright, waterfall laugh of a stranger that resonates in foreign places within the listening librarian. Shaking his head slowly, the lilac-haired man stands, moves closer to the door, bringing his warm cup of tea to his lips. He stands there for many minutes, listening to the joviality that he cannot join in on for fear of ruining it. _

_

* * *

_

Today is a strange day.

First, Axel has not been home all day. This in itself is not as strange as I have made it out to be, but it is certainly unusual. When he has nothing else to do, Axel is more prone to lazing around the house, napping like a cat in a sunbeam than gallivanting off to who-knows-where.

Second, Roxas is not here either.

He might still be at work, but I doubt it somehow. Nor do I think that the two are together. It seems that they are plotting something separately, but I have not a clue as to what it might be.

The fact that they have left me here by myself is strange enough. They usually delight in dragging me on their hare-brained adventures.

But third, this must be the first time I have been alone with their musician friend.

Yes, the blonde is currently sitting in my room as I am writing this. He came over in hopes of speaking with Axel, but upon learning that the redhead was not home, he asked if he could come in anyway. Apparently, he is supposed to wait around if neither Roxas nor Axel is here. So he asked if he could simply wait in my room with me, as "the rest of the apartment is just…too lonely" as he put it. I acquiesced, if only to study him more.

Honestly, I expected him to be a bother, constantly talking, laughing, moving, _something_, but….

But….

He is…less of an obtrusion than I thought he would be. He is almost silent, quite unlike the chatterbox I have become used to seeing sitting on the couch with Axel and Roxas. All he has done is look through my bookshelf, and even that was done with minimal talking, and he never touched a single spine.

The change in his behavior is peculiar.

He's not talking, not doing anything, really. Normally, he is constantly in motion, never quite content to stay still for too long, but now he is simply sitting on my floor.

Just now, I looked over at him to find him staring at me. Peculiar. He is watching me, just as I am watching him. It is almost as though _I_ am being studied as well.

And I wonder… what is he thinking? What is he looking for?

Those eyes of his are too melancholy by far. Why does it seem to always be my fault these days? I am the only one who can drag that expression to the surface, and I don't like that, I find. Contrary to Axel's opinion, I do not delight in causing people pain. It is sometimes a by-product of my prying, yes, but everything I do around the blonde seems to make his smiles falter slightly. Crack, if you will.

The front door has just opened. It seems that Roxas and Axel are back.

And the blonde left my room, smile sliding onto his face like quicksilver, bright and shining.

I hate it.

I hate that smile. The one that speaks of nothing deep, only the fleeting surface of lies and masks. Too often have I seen it, and _never _have I liked it.

…wait….

What am I talking about? I've only known Demyx for a few weeks. I haven't seen him smile any other way than what he just did, so how would I even know anything different?

Maybe it just reminds me of someone I know.

But I don't remember anyone else smiling like that.

I am going to retire early tonight. My mind is muddled and I believe that I need more sleep in order to restore my typical cognitive abilities.

Good night.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, the pale man lets out a ragged sigh, mouth twisted in a frown. He shuts the journal almost roughly, setting his pen to the side with a clack. For a moment, he stares intently at the wall over his desk as though reconsidering his actions, but only stands and changes into his sleeping clothes._

_He makes his usual circuit around the apartment, ignoring the questions about his well-being from his roommates. Stopping briefly at the window in the living room, the librarian looks over his city with all its shining lights. He glances over to the friendly, still-strange blonde. Their eyes meet, and the pale man feels something twist within him. _

_Quickly, he turns and hurries back to his room, turning out the lights and curling underneath cold blankets._

_Even as he sleeps, he can still feel the weight of sad, sad, too-knowing eyes on him._

_

* * *

_

I apologize for my abruptness in my last entry. It was not good form for me to become so easily perturbed. In the future, I shall endeavor to curb my reactions. For some reason, my subject was able to get under my skin too easily and it unsettled me.

There is just something about him, at times.

As it is, I have had to put this down yet again due to classes and work. Teachers seem to delight in assigning projects and tests that overlap with every other class that one is taking, so I always seem to end up with two weeks of absolute hell, in terms of work I still have to do. A few more weeks have passed, and I have not been alone with the blonde since last you heard from me. Thank the heavens for that, as I am unsure of my possible reactions to him now.

But a new facet of his personality has come to light.

I don't know exactly when it was that Axel's blond friend started really leaving things. Every week, Demyx comes over, claiming he is there to pick up something –his jacket, a book, music, a pair of shoes- that he had left behind. And every time, he will leave another item without picking up the old one. I have found that wristband of his at least three more times, and I have since given up on trying to give it back to him.

It is a curious habit of his. I wonder why he does it.

A thought just occurred to me though.

Perhaps he just does it to piss off Axel.

If so, it seems to be working. My flat-mate is strangely obsessive about where the clutter is in his areas, and it almost seems sometimes as if he has a system in place that Demyx is carefully destroying. I wish him all the luck in the world, in that case. Axel needs reminding that he's not the best thing to happen to this poor planet, and it's interesting to see the things that can bring him down to a more normal level.

Roxas is first and foremost among those.

I still have no idea as to what the two of them are planning. It is coming up on their three-year anniversary in a couple of months, so perhaps they are scheming because of that? No matter what it is, it's making me nervous. Normally I would have been pulled in to review one or both of their plans by now, so I would at least have _some _idea as to what to expect.

They are both infuriating people who should know better than to keep secrets from me.

Until later. I have no projects to do anymore, and sleep I need to catch up on.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The door opens, and a blonde man looks inside to see the lilac-haired librarian asleep at his desk. A book is open in front of him, and it is covered in neat writing. With a sigh, the blonde just shakes his head, calls in his redheaded lover, and –with the redhead's help- starts maneuvering the pale man towards his bed._

_Watching them with curiosity and a mocking bitterness in his eyes is the musician. He stands in the doorway with the ease of long familiarity, and reaches out to trace the cover of a book on one of the numerous shelves around the room. Another of his strange smiles crosses his face, stretches his mouth in a charade of amusement. He leaves soon afterwards._

_Asleep in his bed, the man dreams of white, white walls, false smiles, and a carefree voice murmuring his name._

_

* * *

_

How mortifying. It appears that last night, I fell asleep at my desk, and Axel and Roxas had to carry me to bed. They haven't had to do that in years, at least since senior year ended. I don't overwork myself as often anymore, as I have become much better at organizing my time for work. Oh, the days of frequent all-nighters…. I hope I never have to go through that again. I still owe Axel for dragging me out of my studious haze that year.

Hopefully he'll never have to do it again.

Today is a lazy day, it seems. I don't have anywhere to go for once, and I decided earlier that I would just wear my most comfortable clothes, a soft black shirt and blue flannel pants. The sky is dark and overcast, and it is thundering in this dark mixture of anticipation and rain. I am most grateful that all my work is done for now, so I can simply sit in the windowsill with a cup of hot tea and write in this book. I think that today I shall simply write for me. The weather outside makes me want to simply write what comes easiest to my mind.

It is early spring, and the green of growth is just starting to weave its way back into the world. Soon enough, the world will blossom into full summer, and the wind will have the faint tinge of dust on the end of it. But for now, it seems as though everything is content to remain soaked and awakening, turning from Winter's dead yellow and white and brown to Spring's pale, almost shy greens and blues.

The rain is falling harder now, so dense I can't see far beyond the window. The street and trees are blurs from where I am, curled into the chair nearest the window, and it's a comforting feeling of isolation.

He smells like rain. Like water, meant for growth and for sun.

Clean.

Every time I see him, he has that backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder, old and battered. His shirts are worn, and they seem to be almost a part of him, as do his faded jeans. The hems of his jeans are in tatters, indicating that he walks on the backs of them.

Not often is he still. He moves some part of his body at all times, be it fingers tapping, fingers flexing, something. It is like he is anxious.

Waiting for something, though what he is waiting for, I cannot tell.

His name is all I know of him.

Demyx.

That is all.

He is taller than me, though not so tall as Marluxia and Axel. His legs are long and muscular, and he has a habit of shifting from side to side or tapping his foot when he stands still. While walking, he conducts invisible music unconsciously, hand constantly moving in a simple beat pattern. His fingers are long and tapered, musician's hands, and they are pleasing to look at.

But other than that?

Nothing. A name, a face, a shallow, reflective personality that doesn't say who he really is.

Demyx. The one of indeterminate age and indiscriminate friendliness.

It's true that I have not known him as long as I have Axel or Roxas, but normally I am able to understand more about a person within a half year's acquaintance. For some reason, though, he defies all expectations. He pretends to be brainless and insipid, but he has these startling moments of insight. He laughs too easily, the gesture practiced, not natural. He watches, sees things, but I don't know what he sees, or why he's looking to begin with.

Something is there that he simply isn't saying.

Excuse me, someone is at the door.

I apologize. It has been several hours since that last sentence. It is now night and is nearing the time when I must go to sleep.

However, before that, I must tell you what delayed me so.

Demyx is staying the night here.

As I am writing this, he is in the shower, probably still attempting to warm up after the rain. He was caught outside for a few hours, it seems, and he made his way to this apartment. Come to think of it, he will probably have to borrow some of my clothes. Axel's are too skinny for him, and Roxas is too small for any of his clothes to fit Demyx.

One would think that he would have found shelter long before this, but Demyx was apparently too busy thinking to notice that he was getting soaked. I wish I could say that it surprises me that he's so absent-minded. However, it really doesn't… really surprise me in the slightest. He seems the sort to get lost in a train of thought.

Somehow, I get the feeling that he was perfectly aware of the weather, though. He just didn't care.

What in the world could have distracted him so much?

Another thing I should mention. It appears that Demyx regards this apartment as the only place he can go at times like this. I find myself confused by this, but perhaps there is something comforting here?

This is the relevant conversation, as I remember it.

'So, can I…stay here for the night?' Demyx smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his wet and tattered backpack hanging from the other.

I looked at the soaked blond, curious despite my better judgment. 'Don't you have anywhere else to go?'

Demyx smiled a tired, sad smile that only reached his eyes as pain and answered, '…no, not really.'

In that moment, looking at him just standing there, drenched and despondent, I resolved that Demyx would always be able to come here, to my home, and he will always be welcome here. It is …atypical of me to feel that way about anyone. Axel and Roxas were both a little startled when they came home to find Demyx on our couch.

But then, even I am surprised by the sudden determination and protectiveness I felt. It is not normal for me at all. This vagabond of Axel's has affected me more than I originally thought.

That is…not as troubling as it should be….

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The pale man quickly falls asleep after his habitual circuit around the apartment. A few hours later, the door creaks open. His face shadowed by the faint light from the hallway, the blonde musician steps slowly, quietly into the room. He carefully sits down next to the lilac-haired man's bed, expression unreadable. _

_Many times, he reaches out as if to touch the sleeping man, but he always retracts his hand before he does._

_An hour later, he leaves, eyes full of longing and melancholy, his pain echoed by the still-weeping night sky._

* * *

Alright, finals have come and gone, and it has been a month since Demyx first stayed the night here. I apologize for not being able to write in this more often, but there simply has not been time. There have, however, been a few new developments.

It hardly surprises me anymore to wake up in the morning and find out that Demyx has left himself at our apartment.

The first time it happened, Demyx was mortified, stammering apologies left and right. As it became more apparent that neither Axel nor I really mind, he calmed down and casually left a blanket and pillow next to the couch. It is an unspoken promise that he will be back.

Sometimes, we need that promise. He appears and disappears at will, and the only way I know how to find him is when he knocks on my door.

Axel and Roxas's constant worrying about him must be getting to me. I find myself almost… distressed by the fact that I wouldn't know if something has gone wrong.

Reviewing the situation, I realize that Demyx is sleeping more and more at our place. This bothers me less than I think it would if it were under normal circumstances; Demyx's appearance into our lives was such a gradual takeover that even I didn't notice until… just now. How can that be called normal? And again, that fact bothers me less than it should. I should be protesting at the loss of my distance, but instead….I think I need the experience. Just to understand why people do the imbecilic things they do.

No, that was not an admission of anything beyond simple scientific interest. You are reading far too much into this.

Demyx told me today –in that strange, abstracted way he has when he's thinking in colors and sounds rather than in words –that I have what he calls Dreamer Eyes.

Of course, he snapped back into the realm of language not long after, and I was able to get an explanation for that strange phrase without really having to ask for it. I shall try to transcribe his words as I remember them. If I tried to paraphrase what he said, I am afraid that I would ruin his meaning. As it is, I am still unsure of what he really meant.

That aside, here is the conversation.

'W-well, you see, it's…um…it's not really…easy to…please don't be offended, but this…' Here he sighed, not looking me in the eyes as if to save himself from some embarrassment, "Dreamer's Eyes just means that you always look like you're thinking about something else, something far away in the future, not ever here in the present. I think that people who have these eyes, like you and Roxy, intimidate people because when you start thinking, you disappear from this world, and you start thinking at the drop of a hat. It's easy for others to think you're ignoring them, or that you're lonely or sad or really angry, because when you walk, you think, and your face goes blank, except for your eyes, which are really far away, like…they're seeing everything and nothing at the same time." Another sigh, "I'm sorry, Zexy…"

And that was really it. I wasn't angry with him then, and I'm not now, though I find myself smiling in exasperation at his persistence with that blasted nickname. Demyx seems to thrive on informal relationships, and one of his ways to relax himself is to address everyone as casually as he can, which means nicknames. Though one does wonder why he keeps it up with me, when I have made it abundantly clear that I would much rather him call me by my given name.

Demyx is strange sometimes. But then again, he wouldn't be Demyx if he wasn't.

As Axel says, "I don't worry about weird people. It's the normal ones I scared of."

That might explain Axel's eclectic collection of people, now that I think of it. He certainly is in no way normal, and neither is Roxas. Sora's abnormality is his overwhelming belief that everything will work out perfectly; Riku's the fact that he is somehow superior and inferior to everyone simultaneously.

But Demyx….

Demyx seems too complicated to categorize like that. He is one of the most infuriating people I know, simply because of his randomness. Nothing he does follows a logical pattern. He is- in turns- kind and harsh, straightforward and multifaceted, shallow and deep and breathes love and hate as easily as air, the way most breathe life and death. It makes no sense. Nobody should be able to do that.

It seems I must study him more, though how to do that in an unobtrusive way escapes me at the moment.

I shall sleep on the question.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Turning off the nearby lamp with a sigh, the librarian stands, shaking his cramping wrist. The walls are stained with slivers of moonlight, blue and silver arching around each other. The man changes his clothes for bed._

_As he leaves his room, he sees a faint golden glow from underneath his flat-mate's door. Curious, he walks over. There are the murmurs of conversation, but he cannot make out any words. He can, however, hear the shaking worry and confusion in one of their voices, as well as sharp concern in the other. He shakes his head, straightens from where he was pressing his ear to their door, finishes his circuit, and trusts that they will solve whatever problems have arisen._

_When he sleeps, he dreams of an island, pure and white-sanded with clear blue waves that dissolve slowly into hazy purple nothingness, and crisp aquamarine eyes framed by silver hair. _

_Of a fight he has to win, but loses._

* * *

Something strange is happening.

Roxas and Axel don't seem…quite themselves. I have caught them in the middle of no fewer than five fights, and while they would normally just continue to argue as though I were not there, Axel always cuts off in the middle, and he looks very…distraught. Normally at the sight of me. As though there were something he regrets or feels ashamed of.

His tell-signs are very obvious for once and Axel doesn't seem to feel comfortable within the confines of his own skin. Every time I ask him what is going on, he always says that he's fine, everything is fine. However, it is so very obvious that nothing is alright.

And in between the fighting…well. The last time they were this bad was two years ago, when Roxas first moved in with us.

I'm sure you comprehend what I'm talking about.

I just wish I understood what was going on. They aren't normally able to keep anything from me, but both of them seem strangely tight-lipped about their newest fight. Which reminds me. I mentioned all of this earlier to Demyx, and he seemed…bizarrely relieved by the news, almost happy.

Does…Demyx desire one of them? Does he wish for them to break up, so he can move in on one of them?

I do not know.

He went to talk to them an hour ago, requesting that I keep out of the way until he comes out for me, and I have not heard a thing from them since.

I dislike feeling this helpless. I much prefer it when I am in control and can manipulate events to my liking. Some would call me controlling, but it is rather that I don't like leaving things in the hands of those perhaps less capable. No one else seems to be able to get the results they want from others as well –or as easily- as I do.

Sometimes, given how much I meddle, it is little wonder that people do not trust me.

Why does this bother me so?

It is…illogical, for lack of a better term. I should not be bothered by the fact that my flat-mates are either fighting or fucking, nor by the fact that some…wandering bard has designs on one or both of them. It is not as though we are close, Demyx and I. He is much closer to Axel and Roxas, though it always seems as if he is constantly watching me when I am near him.

And his eyes… They are familiar to me, and yet I have never seen him before Axel introduced him. Everything about him is familiar.

…I do not understand….

But, if I were to be honest with myself, I do.

This is… what I believe to be known as… desire.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The pale man presses a hand to his forehead, an aching band of pressure forming behind his eyes. Slowly, he makes his way to his bed, collapsing onto it, unable to stand._

_For a time, he curls around himself, pleading silently for the headache to disappear. When the pain slowly fades, the slate-haired man falls into an uneasy slumber, waves and walls and voices and books all running together in his mind, finally fading into the lines of bold cobalt eyes._

_They are familiar and unfamiliar, cold and calculating and _**_wanting_**.

* * *

Axel is moving out.

Such a simple thing, but it seems to change so much.

He and Roxas have finally saved up enough money to go to Europe. They will be there for a few years, working when money gets low, and traveling the rest of the time, but this does mean that they cannot keep up the apartment here, not if they want to stay and go "everywhere" as Roxas claims they will do. I'm going to have to find and train a new roommate until they get back and can live here once again. It will be quite a bother, since it took Axel seven years to learn everything (though, admirably, it only took Roxas two years), and it was a difficult time for all involved.

Demyx is very uncertain of his place here now and appears to spend all of his time talking to Axel about "the good, old days". Whether he's simply being over-dramatic or truly sentimental, I cannot tell, but I do know that he avoids me as much as possible. This confuses me, as he has never attempted to elude me before.

According to some, I have become quite inept at reading Demyx as of late. This irritates me to no end, as I have been known to be exceptionally talented at knowing and understanding people. But then again, I only have Axel's word to go on. Every time I ask him about it, though, he only laughs in that smug, infuriating way he has, and says, "Oh, you'll see," before walking off.

Roxas assures me that whatever Axel's talking about isn't a big deal and not to worry about it. I find him easier to believe, not because Axel is any less trustworthy, but rather because Roxas is worse at lying than Axel is. Axel's tell signs normally change too rapidly and are so ingrained into his everyday motions that I am no longer certain whether he's lying or really just brushing his hair out of his face. Roxas doesn't lie nearly as readily as his lover. Thank the heavens, since one of the two of them needs to be honest.

In order to inform you, yes, they are back to normal. Apparently Demyx's talk had done them some good.

But back to the topic at hand, the idea that there's something about Demyx that I don't know…. It upsets me.

What discomforts me more, though, is the fact that both Roxas and Axel know about it, and I don't. Whether or not the problem is actually important or not is of little consequence. When did I become so possessive of Demyx? He was Axel's friend first, so I have no claim on him. He barely even knows me beyond the fact that I'm Axel's roommate and I don't talk much, unless it's to berate, correct, goad, or otherwise infuriate other people. I shouldn't expect him to tell me everything. Well, to be honest, I don't expect him to tell me anything.

But I want him to.

I want Demyx to tell me everything, from the small to the large.

If I were to be true to myself, and stop lying for a time, I would admit that I want to know the outward parts and the secret inner sections that no one besides him even knows exist. I want to know what he had for breakfast, how his day is going, what he's thinking, where he always disappears to, why he smiles so often, why those smiles never really quite reach his eyes. I want to know how he thinks, to understand him from the inside out. I also want to know the feel of his body under mine, but that is easily the simplest and most certainly the basest of all these desires, though none of them will ever be easily obtained. I want to know him and possess him. Also, I want him to know and possess me, which is going to be quite difficult.

See, I can't just offer myself up to someone who might not want me in that capacity. Sora calls me a closet romantic, but he is mistaken. I just don't want to waste the effort involved if I will simply be rejected. It is nothing more than simple economics. To that, Riku says that I'm a coward, afraid of being hurt.

Since I do not go about…emotional business that often, I cannot dispute him as of yet, but I find it hard to believe that I am lacking courage. In my observations of the world and relationships, I have noticed that many people suffer from this...cowardice, if you will.

When did I begin to notice him so much?

I will continue this later. I am going to have too much trouble sleeping now as it is, and I don't wish to further aggravate that.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The pale man exits his room, trailing fingers over boxes that litter the hallway and living room. On the couch is a long-limbed figure, sleeping peacefully._

_With a quiet exhale, the librarian examines him, cobalt eyes tracing over curves and planes before settling on the blonde musician's face. Ink-stained fingertips reach out and brush against a tanned cheek, calluses catching slightly on the smooth skin._

_He repeats this motion unthinkingly once more and stands, slowly striding his way back to his room, deep in thought._

_The blonde raises his hand to touch his cheek, chokes back a quiet sob, pressing blunt nails into the flesh there, trying to retain the sparks of heat that the gentle touch caused._

_Neither of them sleeps well._

* * *

Normally, I use this journal to elucidate my observations about the people I meet. However, I need to take this moment to write down a few…abnormalities on my end. It should not take overlong.

To begin with, I am remembering things that have never happened.

This past week, there have been moments where I am sitting in the kitchen, watching Roxas cook, and I almost ask him why someone else isn't cooking instead. It is ludicrous, as neither Axel nor I can cook near so well as Roxas. I am also feeling… a bizarre anger and resentment towards my redheaded flat-mate. I don't remember anything he has done to make me so upset with him, but the feeling is there nonetheless.

While they pack for their trip – they leave this weekend – I watch them, and see two roommates I know, and at the same time, people I know that aren't quite them. There are these… strange moments of overlay in my vision, where I am seeing someone… not quite either of my roommates. Both of them are simultaneously too lean, too casual, too comfortable, too searching, too _something_ and it simply does not sit right with me.

I am experiencing strange moments of vertigo as well. At work just earlier today, I almost collapsed, because the dizziness was too strong.

Everything is so confusing right now.

And if Demyx is nearby, it is twice, if not thrice worse.

My heart tries to pound out of my chest, I can barely breathe, and it feels like there are live wires embedded within my skin. He is himself, and not himself, and there are so many false memories that cover him. I hear his music within my pulse, though he has never played inside the boundaries of this house. I remember conversations with him in the hallways of a castle I have never seen, all white and pale and false.

I see the arch of his body, feel his skin under me, know the taste of him.

What is happening to me? Why do I know these things?

I have never …never imagined such an emotion as this before, and yet it settles within me so easily –all-consuming and terrifying and strangely wonderful.

I need, and I desire, and I am a stranger within my own skin.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Lamplight dancing its golden fingers across his pale skin, the man leans back in his chair, a frustrated groan on his lips. He digs the heel of his hand into his eyes and stands rapidly, dressing for bed. With gentle fingers, he closes the book and turns off the lamp, letting the light spots on his eyes fade before he moves towards his bed._

_It offers him no comfort through the night._

* * *

It is an early hour for me to write in this, and I would apologize, but I have finally found out what has been plaguing me for so long.

To begin as a sort of time reference, Axel and Roxas have left the apartment, and have been in Europe for a little over two weeks now. During this period, I have seen little of Demyx. Right now, I am glad of that.

These… memory shadows, if you will, are not the product of a fever, or something strange in the water. They _are_ my memories. I am seeing Axel and Roxas, and Demyx, as I remembered them from… another life in another world.

It sounds insane, I realize, but it must be true. Nothing else makes any sort of sense.

I remember everything now. The Castle That Never Was, Kingdom Hearts, the Organization Thirteen. Our quest to retrieve our hearts, and the deaths we suffered because of internal strife and two Keyblade bearers.

Our folly.

…I am Zexion. The Cloaked Schemer. Number Six of the Organization.

And at the same time, I am Zexion, flat-mate and friend of Axel and Roxas, part-time librarian, full time graduate student.

Both versions of me are in agreement on one thing.

I am absolutely furious with all of them.

Because of one thing.

**They knew.**

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Fingers clench around a pen. Shaking his head to clear his eyes, the pale skinned man pushes his chair back roughly, pacing around the room. He feels trapped, caged, impotent, and it infuriates him._

_Storming around the quiet room –silent, empty, too empty-, the man swears under his breath, digging short fingernails into his palm. He sits on the bed, jaw tense and lips pressed tightly together. As he takes some deep breaths, he smoothes his hands out, running the pads of his fingers over the silky sheets. They bump against something different, a cottony fabric, and the slate-haired man glances at it, lifts it with shaking fingers._

_A simple, blue wristband._

_And he presses it tightly to his palm, ignoring the slight sting of tears, just as he ignores the stabbing ache of his heart._

* * *

*takes a few glances around and ducks beneath some covers*

IT'S NOT THE END, I PROMISE. There's still another chapter to go!

Huzzah for reincarnation-kink? No, seriously, I have…like, a thing for predestination, or something. I don't even know. But, still, a few notes.

1 – That bedamned wristband – Told you it would be a thing.

2 – The scene that made me want to write this whole thing? Yeah, it's the one where Demyx says that he doesn't really have anywhere else to go.

Alrighty, see you in the next (last) chapter! Love ya lots, reviews give me ideas (and I need them, since the plan for the last chapter is in ruins!)

Ta-ta, for now!


	3. Different Shade of Blue

**Disclaimer:** Nooooot mine. But I totally just bought a PSP_ just_ so I can play Birth By Sleep. And then a few connector cables so I can hook it up to a big screen and all my roomies can watch.

**Author's Notes:** Here's the final chapter! I'd apologize for it being late (or at least, for it taking me so long), but it's also a HUGE chapter. Maybe I should apologize for that instead….

**Dedications: Evil-Pixie-Dust.** BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, BABE! CAPSLOCK IS FUN! To **Dualism**, because you make me smile. To **EVERYONE WHO'S EVER READ THIS OR REVIEWED IT!** Thank you for taking the time to do so! I'm glad that I can write something that you enjoy (hopefully).

Now for the end of all things….

* * *

There are no words for how terrible this morning has been.

After my revelation of earlier, I was unable to get back to sleep, and so I have spent my time trying to … reorganize my memories, if you will. They are jumbled and tangled, overlaying events that have happened in this life with ones that happened similarly in the last one, and vice versa. The sheer mass of the knowledge I now hold is almost nauseating at times, and I can barely move for fear of vertigo.

One mind is no place for two people.

And we are two people. Almost three, if you factor in The Cloaked Schemer's memories of Ienzo. We are not the same, and yet we are, and I am so very confused and conflicted. I have not seen Demyx, nor heard from Axel and Roxas in a few weeks. I need to know what is going on, and that is extraordinarily hard to do without another frame of reference.

I hate every second of this. I feel as though I am not remembering everything I need to.

This is what I know.

I was Number Six in Organization Thirteen. I didn't like dirtying my hands with actual work, but that didn't mean I couldn't fight. I was even more manipulative then than I am now, but the fascination of figuring out the inner workings of someone's mind remains just as strong as ever. My love of books also has not diminished, and the part of me that remains simply Zexion wants to visit the library at the Castle that Never Was and hide in there for a few days, surfacing only for minimal amounts of food. The library there is extensive, and I remember it holding books that I had always meant to read and never did.

During my…life, as you could call it, I was in charge of very little, as the Superior, a man named Xemnas, knew that I wouldn't care very much about anything not directly related to my library. I was briefly used to train Roxas when he first arrived, but very little else aside from the ill-fated Castle Oblivion venture, though there were various solo missions to keep me occupied.

My direct superior was Vexen, our old Chemistry professor and Number Four in the Organization. His and Marluxia's romance now seems even odder than it did before, given that they disliked each other so very much in the past. Marluxia himself was Number Eleven, ambitious, traitorous, and deadly. Saïx is obviously Axel's old friend, Number Seven and Xemnas's right hand man.

Roxas was Number Thirteen, youngest of all of us, and probably the most incomplete as a Nobody, because his Somebody, Sora, was still alive. Number Eight, Axel –liar, murderer, close to all and friend to only one- he did everything with Roxas in mind. Even in our past life, he was always in love with the petite blonde.

Demyx was Number Nine. Melodious Nocturne, naïve and unmotivated to do anything besides play his sitar and tell us that we still had our hearts. Never easily found if a job was to be done and pacifistic to the last. Captivating even then.

How many of us? How many of us will remember who we used to be? Four out of thirteen? All of us?

Will Sora and Riku also remember?

I wonder these things, and I have no answers. The only one who might is Demyx, and he is nowhere to be found.

The guilt in Axel's eyes is now easily understood. He remembers what he did to me. Perhaps my death wasn't … directly his fault, as his hands weren't the ones around my throat, but the intent was his, the scheming his, the decision to go through with it his. I imagine that finding out that you coolly and coldly ordered the death of someone you now count among your closest friends is quite a blow.

Likewise, all of Roxas and Axel's arguments now make sense. As does why they chose never to fight while I was within hearing range.

After all, it's not like I _knew _before now.

I should…probably call them. Ask how their trip is going. Tell them that I remember now. Find out why…. Why we were so stupid. So foolish. So blind.

God, I wish they were here right now. Axel always seems to have some sort of crazy, half-baked plan, and Roxas would … I don't know what Roxas would do. Something either equally harebrained or completely brilliant.

Knowing the two of them, whatever we ended up with would be a bizarre mix of the two.

I miss them. And yet I know that I cannot ask them to come back. They have waited so long for this trip that it would be unfair to both of them.

Even so, I do need to call them. Make sure that I'm not… not just hallucinating this. I know they remember what I do, but at the same time I need to hear them say it. I need to hear some sort of verification. I …

I'll have to call later. Roxas has probably dragged Axel out sight-seeing, and neither of them have reliable service in Europe on their cell phones.

Until then….

I suppose I must think. Go to work. And just think.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Rubbing at dark, tired bruises beneath his eyes, the pale man sits in his chair, running idle fingertips across the ink-covered pages of the journal. His expression is troubled and unfocused, and every time his eyes flutter closed, they remain that way longer and longer until he is mostly dozing at his desk. After a few minutes of fitful sleep, he jerks awake._

_His eyes dart around as though his surroundings are unfamiliar. Finally recognizing where he is, the pale man relaxes, though even that motion is weary. Eventually, he stands and makes his way to the door._

_The journal lies on the desk, open in the sunlight._

* * *

I finally managed to talk to Axel and Roxas earlier today.

They have confirmed what I know. I'm not going insane or anything of the sort. They remember everything too. What a relief that is, to know that. They also apologized, almost as soon as they found out that I remembered. It seems that they believed I would think _they_ were insane if they suddenly started talking about what had happened and past lives, and I have to concur with them.

If I think about it rationally, I would not have reacted well.

Still, that doesn't stop the mild feeling of betrayal. It's just ill-timing. If I had remembered a few weeks earlier….

No matter. I didn't, so I have to live with this. They meant no harm with what they had done.

From what I have gathered, the two of them remembered around the same time, and most of their arguments were full of Roxas calling Axel an idiot and Axel trying to defend himself. The lengths Axel went to for that boy….

How in the world could we mistake that for anything other than love? How could we keep insisting that we felt nothing when a few of us so obviously did?

I suppose we just hated to be proven wrong too much.

Arrogance. It killed us all, in the end.

Axel and Roxas filled me in on what happened after I was killed. Everything spiraled out of control, and nothing went as planned. Our dream failed us, and we all ended up fighting for something we knew we would lose. Sora was always there, pure and misguided intentions blazing through us as though we were naught but shadows. Well, they would seem misguided to us. After all, he was _fighting_ us. To him, we were the ones in the wrong.

Though it is not like we did much to disprove him there.

The two halves are me are in such disharmony. The Schemer, proud and arrogant, still stubbornly believes that what he –I—was doing was right. Still sees it as the best option. I have to look at it with the eyes of someone who never had to personally experience the pain and confusion of losing their heart, and I find that I cannot exactly agree with him. There were so many mistakes made, and it's hard to believe that a group of thirteen strong-willed people weren't able to see them all.

But you are always able to see your mistakes best after they've happened.

Another thing. Axel and Roxas indicated that there definitely was something I haven't remembered. They will not tell me what it is, or what it concerns, and that frustrates me. I understand that I should remember these things on my own, but I feel as though my mind can't hold any more information, and the fact that there is still more? Sickening.

How strange is it, though? I am unaware of anything missing. I can almost count the exact number of days I was 'alive', and I can tell you exactly what I did during each and every one.

Why is it, then, that I am missing something? Something of vital importance?

Why is it that I remember nothing more of Demyx?

Aside from the few flashes I had before I remembered everything else, I cannot recall anything past a few idle conversations or missions with him. There must have been something more.

There _must_ have been.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_His forehead cradled in his palm, the slate-haired librarian lets out a heavy sigh, eyes shadowed and troubled. After closing the journal softly, his gaze turns to the blue wristband on the table._

_He picks it up with a gentle touch, twisting the cotton around his hands and raising it to his lips, breathing in ocean and warmth. It eases some distantly aching part of him. He shakes his head in frustration, standing to ready himself for bed. The city outside the window holds no interest for him tonight, and he passes by it without a glance on his circuit. _

_Even as he sleeps, the musician's wristband is in his hands._

* * *

Number Nine hasn't shown his face yet.

It has been three weeks since I have remembered, two and a half weeks since I got in touch with Axel and Roxas, and I have not seen him this entire time. I wonder if he knows I remember, and is avoiding me. I wonder how much he himself remembers.

In my memories he acts differently than I've seen him behave thus far. In this life, he seems like a pale shadow of himself, a flat pane of glass, so unlike the tumultuous being he was before. Instead of chattering constantly, meaninglessly, he acts most like who he is nearest to at the moment, I have come to realize. That explains his curious behavior when we were alone together and the change I witnessed once Axel and Roxas returned home. I am not given to idle chatter, and since I am not… apparently he was not either.

But Number Nine never behaved in that manner before. Perhaps it is a new development?

Whatever the answer, I still need to talk to him. I know that he is in town. He said that he never leaves the city, just wanders aimlessly within its boundaries. As though he knows everyone will end up here at least once. He is the catalyst for all of this, I am sure. He remembered before us, and it was only after his presence in our lives that we began to remember.

I wonder how many of us he has met. It cannot be all of us, certainly. Saïx has not set foot inside this city as far as I know, and Marluxia and Vexen visit only infrequently. However, the possibility is still there.

…I am afraid of what I will do if I see him.

I do not want him near me, and yet I need him here. The Schemer in me is desperate to see him, but for what purpose, I do not know, and am afraid to find out.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The pale man stares woodenly at the pages before him, seeing the lines crossing through every repetition of the blonde musician' name, always replacing it with the colder "Number Nine". He sees this, feels the tightening in his chest, hears a hollow roaring in his ears, and shuts the book with a loud slap. The noise seems to startle him, and he stands up, freezing in place after only a step. _

_The strange anxiety in him dissipates after a few moments, and he slumps onto the bed, turning his face blindly into the pillow._

_He falls asleep still dressed, and his dreams are melancholy, mourning something he knows he needs, but doesn't know where to find._

* * *

The clouds are dark and restless outside. The lampposts that I can see are swaying with the force of the wind, and the sky itself –where visible through the clouds- is a strange blue that fades into yellow around where the sun has set. The disquieting otherworldliness of the weather outside seems fitting, given the evening I just had.

For the first time since I have remembered my past life one month ago, Demyx showed up at my house.

He showed up, and I could not think, could not breathe, and there was this constant buzzing in my ears. Once more, he was soaked, clothes clinging to his skin. His eyes were touched by wariness, sadness welling in their green-blue depths. I let him inside, but couldn't make myself face him. The world was ringing, spinning, never still and I could not think of what to say, but before I knew it, my lips were moving.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Those were my first words to him. Minutes of silence had passed between the two of us, just standing there, neither willing to make a move, and I broke it like that. Of all the things I could have said –_wanted_ to say-, I said that. For one as eloquent as I, one would think that I could have come up with some better way, something _else_, not so accusing, but in that moment, I could not hear past the rushing in my blood and the screaming in my skin.

Why does he always seem to undo me?

We fought for a while. It matters not what about. I was … For some reason, I could not move past that single question, no matter what he answered. And he answered in so many different ways, but none of them were the answer I was seeking. The Schemer is more intent than I give him credit for. I forgot my own tendency and ability to focus on one thing until I get what I want. And all I wanted….

I wanted something he could not seem to give.

"Because you would figure it out on your own eventually."

"You never asked!"

"It didn't seem important."

"Because you _still_ don't remember everything!"

"I don't know."

"_I don't know!"_

I just remember him watching me with tired, tired sea-green eyes even as he yelled and cursed at me, as though he knew that this would happen all along. He expected this to happen, to go badly. That bizarre melancholy that originally drew me to him _was_ caused by me all along.

How long has he known, I wonder?

How long has he had to wonder if he was just imagining things?

I am no longer sure what I was after.

Answers, vindication, anger.

_Demyx. _Just Demyx.

Always Demyx.

Something in my blood sings for him, and the Schemer in me yearns for him so badly, yet I still know not for what purpose. I am angry with him for keeping something so integral to myself from me, and I want him so badly, because I still have never stopped… stopped loving him. Even before I knew why, I wanted him in my life, and that desire hasn't changed in the slightest. If anything, it's only become worse. A fever within me.

Just my luck. I managed to drive away one of the few people I desire to keep near me, and all because of a misplaced feeling of anger, an accusing question.

I am … not proud of my actions, but I do not regret them. After all, he will be back.

He always comes back.

…

I no longer know who to ask, but please….

Let him come back to me….

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_The low rumble of thunder fills the dark room. His eyes closed tightly, the pale man sits at his desk, lips pressed into a thin line and hands clenched on his thighs. After many long minutes, he shuts the journal, changes into his sleeping clothes, and walks agitatedly around the apartment, pausing in the main room. _

_He spends several moments staring at the door, need unknowingly etched into every line and curve of his body. A few hesitant, near-silent steps are taken, and the pale man's slender fingers find the door, his entire body following their path into the wood until he is flush against it. Cheek, neck, shoulders, lips, hips, legs; all are pressed hard against the cool wood until a frustrated moan escapes the librarian's lips, and he sags against the door, face contorted in pain. _

_Somewhere in the darkened city, a blonde musician looks up at the sky and closes his eyes to the sting of rain and tears, letting his back rest against different door to a different building and wishing he was in a near-empty apartment with a pale man who smells of books and ink._

* * *

For three long months, I have stopped writing in this, have given it up as a lost cause, but this is driving me insane. I have not seen Demyx since that night, Axel and Roxas are still in Europe, and I am still alone in my apartment, waiting for school to start up again so I can get to work on my doctorate. Everything had seemed as though it was back to normal, and yet nothing is the same.

Perhaps I should have written this immediately the next day, but the memories have been returning slowly. For me, and for others.

That… was unforgivably vague, excuse me. I shall explain.

At least twice within these last three months, Marluxia and Vexen have paid a visit over here, just to spend a weekend away from the store. Judging from the call I got from them no more than two weeks ago, they encountered Demyx during their time here. They have regained their memories, and it has seemed to be difficult for them to work past their conflicting recollections. I know that Vexen took a separate trip up here to stay with me until they could sort themselves out. He told me that yes, he had seen someone who looked like Demyx, playing guitar out on the street.

It appeared to help. Marluxia and Vexen apparently sat down and talked over the residual anger and betrayal they went through. Though neither of them are happy with Axel.

I can't say I blame them, since it wasn't so long ago that I was upset with him as well. They'll forgive him. It's hard to not forgive Axel.

Other than Marluxia and Vexen, however… the only other person that has remembered anything is a woman who passed through their store who ended up being Larxene. She had just moved to that area from here, according to them, and she seems to have lost a great deal of the harshness I associated with her. She's still ruthless, but it's less from a lack of pity than it is from necessity.

It doesn't surprise me to find out that she is a lawyer.

As for me….

The last piece has finally slipped into place. Demyx and I were lovers.

I knew that we had been… carnally involved, for lack of a better (or more delicate) way of putting it, but it was more than that. Before I was sent to Castle Oblivion, we had formed a close bond, one that was not entirely sexual in nature. I hesitate to call it love only because my other self was so cold that he did not allow himself to feel it.

But Demyx…. Demyx -the one no one really expected to be as tricky as he was, the one who was constantly wiggling his way out of missions so he could play music- managed to work himself in close enough to me (though I have no idea why; I wasn't the kindest person to him) that I allowed the beginnings of emotion to thread around me. Demyx believed that he could still feel, even to the point that he thought we still had hearts.

There was an interesting theory to that, I remember that much, but I cannot remember the specific details of it as of yet. I will write them down once I remember.

In light of these new revelations, the fact that I haven't spoken to him except for that argument lends itself to frustration. I am irritated with myself for my behavior.

And curious about his.

If he knew we were lovers, why didn't he bring it up?

It is illogical, but I find myself trying to find him, even when I know I will not be able to. Demyx has already proven his ability to hide himself from me, but nevertheless….

I see him everywhere.

I hear his laughter as I walk past a group of students on campus, and when I turn to find him, he is nowhere to be found.

I smell him as people pass me on the sidewalk, but it is not him, never him.

I see him, flickering in the corner of my eye.

I _see_ him.

And still, I cannot find him.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Closing the book with a heavy sigh, the slate-haired man rubs his forehead with ungentle fingers. A distant pressure is building there, and he walks into the kitchen to get some water, his steps tired and pained. _

_The city outside the window is a constant torment to him, teasing him with the knowledge that what he seeks is out there, but hidden from him._

* * *

It's confirmed. Sora and Riku remember everything as well. They called Sora's cousin, Namine, to talk with her about it, for Namine has always had a strange rapport with Sora's memories. She, and her sister Kairi, both began to remember everything.

All have met Demyx at least once.

What is it about him that drives us to old memories? If anything, one would think that _Sora_, for whom so much grief was caused, would be the binding factor. But no. Instead, it is a man that no one thought much of, aside from him being eccentric, and lazy, and too "cheerful".

Nine months have passed since the night I last saw him. He is still around here somewhere, and I know this like I have known no other thing. The knowledge of him has been written into my very being.

In my last entry, I believe I mentioned a theory of Demyx's as to why we had hearts. Late last night, as I was sitting in the windowsill overlooking the city, I remembered the entirety of it. It was an interesting idea.

Demyx had a theory, one that he only told two people of the entire extent. Roxas was one.

I was the other.

Everyone in the Organization knew the beginning of it: that he believed we still had hearts.

These are the words he whispered to me only when shadows shrouded us both, his head on my shoulder, legs tangled together like so many puzzle pieces.

"Heartless are made up of everything dark in a person's heart, right? Right. And supposedly, we are the shells of what's left behind, the empty body and soul, right? I keep wondering, Zexy, why… what happens to the light? What happens to the _good_ in people, huh? Why don't the Heartless use the Corridors of Darkness like we do? And I don't think that we're the good left, because obviously we're not, because none of us are good people, really, not truly, but maybe…," and he would take a deep shuddering breath here, his nose and cheek warm against my neck, "maybe we've just been given another chance. New hearts, you know? And the reason we can't feel anything is because we're like kids, you know? Kids don't know anything besides hunger and physical sensation, but they're not old enough to understand anything else. But with us…."

Children with the minds of adults. Unable to feel anything besides selfish desires, but knowing that there are so many other things out there.

If he was right….

But even he didn't know. And part of me knows that he was grasping at straws to find the theory to begin with.

None of that stops me from wanting it to be real. Ienzo and Zexion were not the same person, so why should they share a heart between them? I don't even think we knew what would happen to us when we got 'our' hearts back. We wouldn't have remained as Nobodies, but would we, could we become our Somebodies again?

So many questions.

So many, and no answers, but his theory makes a strange sort of sense. The entire time, we were overcompensating for our emotions. We were as infants, new-born and young, but with the minds of adults. The blissful period of awakening most children have was taken from us and we were thrust cruelly into a world that didn't understand. None of us understood. We just knew that something was wrong, was missing, and, like children, we just wanted it back. By any means necessary.

Perhaps he was right all along.

Maybe we already had hearts.

And perhaps we had just forgotten how to use them.

I suppose we shall never know. He could have been wrong, he could have been right. It doesn't matter now. For some reason, we have been given… a sort of second chance. We have been made anew, and this time….

I will _not_ allow him to be taken from me again.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Stretching his arms over his arm, slowly, predatorily, the pale man stands with a lithe movement, his eyes snapping and determined in a way they haven't been for months. He walks from his room with confident strides, turning off all the lights and checking his rooms habitually. _

_In front of the window, he lifts his head with a smirk, casting his contemptuous gaze at the labyrinthine maze of a city that attempted to keep his desires from him. It will not do so again._

_The librarian heads back to his room, already beginning to plot._

* * *

It is done.

A year and a day, and it. Is. Done.

Excuse my triumph for the moment; I needed to get it out of the way before I continued.

This will be a challenging entry, as I feel the need to explain the events of this day, but I am uncertain as to how…objective my point of view will be. It will most likely be easier for me to attempt to transcribe what happened, as it happened.

I will try my hardest to be honest, and not paint myself in the best light, as narrators are wont to do.

Typically on Fridays, I remain at the college until around three in the afternoon, at which time I leave for home. I get home by four (if the traffic is bad), and occupy myself for the rest of the evening with books, homework, or a good movie and a phone call to Axel and Roxas. This pattern of mine doesn't change. Normally.

But when I got to my flat today, a certain blond musician was sitting in front of the door, back propped against the wood, backpack to one side, and guitar splayed across his lap. I had no idea as to what drove him to my doorstep this day, but I will admit to a jolt of satisfaction curling through me.

I could not tell you exactly how long we simply stared at each other, nor could I even begin to guess what Demyx was thinking or feeling. I _did_ wonder what had finally made him come back here (to me, but, at the time, I shied away from such emotional sentiments). After the silence had stretched so long between us that even I was becoming uncomfortable, I walked forward, opened the door, and invited him inside.

Unfortunately, the change of scenery did not inspire either of us to more conversational heights. He watched me –almost nervously– as I set down my book-bag and began to heat some water for tea. It became obvious that he was not going to start speaking, so it was up to me.

"Is there something you require, Demyx?"

He fidgeted, eyes sliding away as he answered, "Um, yeah. Yeah, I came to… get my stuff. You know, get it out of your place and all."

Raising an eyebrow at him, I crossed my arms. "Surely that cannot be all."

"Well, it is." Some of the steel had come back into his voice, though he could not meet my eyes for long, and he stood straighter, chin rising almost defiantly. "I just want to get my shit and get out, never see you again."

Immediately, my mouth snapped down into an angry line. "You're running away again."

Demyx stiffened, cheeks blazing, and retorted, "I am not! I'm just…." He floundered for a second, waving a hand erratically around in the air. "Finally getting all of my things from here. I know I kept leaving them."

It was a weak excuse and it was obvious that he knew it was, even as I advanced on him, frustration evident in all of my features.

"Shirking your duties has always been an extraordinary trait of yours, Number Nine," I spat out. In retrospect, I am _not_ proud of having brought that up. Demyx jerked back as though he had been hit, the flush gaining strength even as he replied with some remark about how I would know, since I always dumped my responsibilities on someone else, too.

We traded insults back and forth for some time, getting closer and closer to each other until we were standing toe-to-toe. And then it reached the breaking point.

"Why do you always have to come in here and just screw everything up, Demyx? You always do, like you're some sort of social hurricane and you leave me to pick up the pieces!" I grabbed Demyx by the collar of his shirt, tugging him down a few inches. (I routinely curse my lack of height; it makes for a poor intimidation technique.)

"And why is it," I snarled, shaking the taller man for emphasis, "that all I can think about right now is throwing you against that wall and _making _you mine?"

His blue-green eyes widened, and, for the first time during the fight, he seemed at a loss for words. The shock didn't last long, as his face grew angry.

Sometimes, I truly have to doubt the reliability of my brain-to-mouth filter. That particular tidbit of information was not one I meant to share.

I cannot even begin to try and repeat all that Demyx said here since he backtracked a great deal in his conversation, but the general idea of it is that he was offended that I would even suggest such a thing (as though he were easy. The idea is laughable. Demyx is _not_, in any way, easy), he never wanted to see me again, he couldn't believe that I would just _say_ that, and obviously I only wanted to have a warm body to fuck again, and it was the last one of those that made my blood boil.

"-and all you ever wanted was a willing body to fuck, so of course _I_ don't mean much, it could've been _Roxas_ for all you care-"

"That is _**not**_ how it was, God damn it, and _you __**fucking**__ know that!_"

…

Not… my most … verbose retort, that is certain. I blame my prolonged exposure to Axel for the sudden drop in my ability to express myself.

We were silent for a moment, breaths harsh and ripping from our lungs, neither looking at the other. Light streamed in between the cracks in the curtains, staining the room with sharp red-gold light in ribbons across the floor, and plunging the rest of the room in deeper, blacker shadows.

"Demyx," and I hated, still hate, the way my voice sounded. Soft, shard-like in its hidden brokenness, curious and dead and muted. "Demyx, what … do you think love is?"

For the longest time, he didn't answer. I have no idea what possessed me to ask that question, but I was sure then –as I am sure now– that the answer he gave is important in some way in order for me to finally figure him out. Finally understand what makes him tick.

"Love is like the color blue," he said with a sad smile, ocean eyes fixed on some point on the floor, glazed with misery and dislocation. "I can say the word blue to someone, and they'll know what I'm talking about, but their color isn't the same as mine, will never be the same as mine." Demyx took a rasping breath, his lips twisted in the mockery of what could have been a smile. "It's something that everyone thinks they know, but no one really understands."

Silence once again fell in the living room, and it took what felt like an eternity for Demyx to raise his eyes from the ground. "I never really understood it either. I said and I said," and his voice choked in the middle, eyes darting down yet again, "but I never really got it."

I can almost pride myself on the words I spoke next, due to their results, but at the same time… I felt so petty and small for asking.

"Why, Demyx? Why can't you just give me another chance?"

After everything, one would think that _he_ would be asking for another chance, since it was _he_ who had walked away again and again in this life. But in the last one….

In the last one, it was I who had left him.

Demyx bit his lips, the inside of his cheeks, didn't look up. At the time, I never would have thought that an emotion could make me so dizzy, but a strange mixture of fear, anticipation, and subdued, worried hope made my head spin until it was only the sight of Demyx keeping me upright.

"I-I just… I can't." But his voice trembled. And he swayed towards me, even as I took a few cautious steps nearer.

"Why, Demyx?" I asked again.

He glanced up, mouth bitten blood-red. "I can't…" Demyx seemed to steel himself again. "It's not like you to want me, anyway. I don't want to… to just get used and cast aside." His voice trailed off on the last words, as though he himself wasn't sure of what he was saying.

"Don't you understand, damn it?" I asked as I stepped into his space, my hands clenching in the collar of his shirt in a strange mimicry of the events a few minutes before. "I want you. In all your frustrations, in all of your joys. In everything. I just. Want. You." I stared into his eyes, thumb smoothing over the fluttering pulse point in his neck. "Why is that so hard to comprehend?"

"Sixteen years."

I blinked, almost distracted (if I am to be honest) by the vibrations of his voice in his throat. "What?"

"I lived," he began, eyes sliding closed and mouth pressed into a tense line, "for sixteen years with the knowledge that _someone_ was out there for me, and that I already knew what it would feel like when they died. And then I find that person again, and they have _no idea who I am._ Excuse me for knowing that a happy ending might not be possible, or being scared, because I might have to face the heartbreak of losing you again! I might not be smart, Zexy," and a small part of me smiled again at the nickname, "but I do have _some_ sense of self-preservation."

If I had been paying more attention at the time, I would have realized that I had given him the _entirely_ wrong impression throughout most of the conversation, but I had not been paying attention to my words. I knew of the emotions behind them, and I have been writing them in here for so long that I had forgotten that he did not know of how I felt.

One of my hands let go of his collar, sliding back to thread its way into Demyx's hair and tugging him down.

….

Ah, this is embarrassing to write….

I kissed him. Putting it simply. After a few seconds of chaste contact, Demyx relaxed into the kiss, finally responding. And, at the risk of sounding overly sentimental and sappy, it was as though a void inside me was filled to overflowing. When I eventually pulled back, his eyes were wide and bright in his flushed face, and hope had finally -_finally-_ overwritten the sadness that was ever present in his eyes.

"I still think you're worth it," I murmured, stroking the nape of his neck. "Even if you insist on being an imbecile, and thinking you're being noble and self-sacrificing. Just give in to me, Demyx. It'll be alright."

He smiled at me, expression fond and exasperated. "You would say it like that." He shook his head without explaining the statement. "Though with such subtle persuasion, how can I resist?"

Lifting my chin almost arrogantly (and no, I was _not_ asking for another kiss, I do not _care_ what it seems like), I answered haughtily, if happily, "Obviously, you cannot."

Demyx just kissed me again, smiling the entire time. "I love you too, Zexion."

"Good," I murmured against his lips.

And it was good, is still good. I don't pretend to think that Demyx will never worry about me leaving him again. In fact, I fully expect that to surface again. What happened today was a quick fix, and a lucky one. I will not be able to employ the same methods again, which is quite disappointing as both the Schemer and I quite like these methods.

Demyx is worth all of the struggles, though, as this journal explains. I would have hardly chased him for a year and a half if he had not been worth it. And now I have him again. It is a new feeling, but a good one, and I intend to luxuriate in it as long as I can.

This should be the last entry in this journal dealing with Demyx. I may not have completed my task of figuring him out, but I should now have ample opportunity in which to observe him. But those findings will be private. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go back to bed.

Farewell. It has been quite the journey.

_-Zexion Illuminatus-_

_Unhappy grumbles come from the bed as the pale man shuts the book and lays the pen beside it. With a smile, he turns to face the blond musician, who pouts at him and gestures him nearer. The pale man stands and walks over, though he pauses when he reaches the bed. He takes the time to trace the curious face of the blond with gentle fingers, a half-smile still on his lips._

_Teal eyes roll, and the musician pulls him in for a kiss, sliding his tongue against the crease of the librarian's lips. _

_The night passes, and they rejoice in the fact that they are no longer alone._

* * *

Demyx.

I know that you're reading this, right now. I know this because later tonight, I'm going to give this journal to you and tell you to read it. Never had I intended for this book to be seen by anyone other than myself. But I believe that showing this to you will put a few questions that you have to rest.

Once, a long time ago, you asked me why I loved you. I wasn't able to answer then. I believe I made some comment to the effect of "We are Nobodies, Number Nine, we cannot love because we have no emotions" or something similar. But now I can answer you.

I will never be able to give you the one thing that made me notice you first. In this life, it was your eyes. In our original lives, I have no idea. I won't be so sappy as to say that it was everything about you, but that is what kept me with you. There is, was, has always been just _something_ about you that makes it impossible for me to ignore you. The simple fact is, I just do. And from the moment you first showed up, you have captivated my interest.

I was never really angry with you for deceiving me, because I knew it to be for a good cause. I would not have taken the news that we knew each other in a past life well at all, and so I must apologize for my behavior from a year ago. It seems that I was… unfair in my accusations.

You have always managed to get beneath my skin.

This journal is now gifted to you, to do with as you please. It is my hope that it clears up any last suspicions you may have about my motives.

I love you, Demyx, and I hope that you now realize how much.

_-Zexion Illuminatus- _

_The pale man stands up from his desk with a sigh, looking at the note he just penned. There is a clattering noise from the kitchen, followed swiftly by several loud curses, and the lilac-haired man winces. He grabs the book and hurries out to make sure that nothing is burning yet._

_Sunlight streams through the bedroom's window, pale and warm. It touches pictures of three people – the redhead, the small blonde, and the owner of the room-, glances across the glossed surface of a guitar, lingers on rumpled, still-warm sheets._

_On a simple, innocuous blue wristband on the bedside table._

* * *

Heya, Zexy!

So, I'm just going to put this out there right now so you can get mad at me now, and I can make it all better later: You're a little bit of a dumbass.

Yeah. You heard me. Dumbass.

You could have just _said_ something when we first met! I mean, geez, yeah, I looked a little bit lonely, but that's because you seemed all distant and uninterested and stuff, and all I could remember was this warmth in your eyes when you looked at me, and then it was gone! And then you just never spoke to me! What was I supposed to think? That you were writing in a little diary (I'm sorry, this is SO a _diary_, not a journal or whatever it is you're calling it, god, Zexy, you're such a _girl_) about everything I did?

Oh wait.

You did that. I just read it.

Stop looking at me. I can feel your eyes on me, and it's a little distracting while I'm trying to verbally abuse you. In fact, just stop being sexy for a while. I can't concentrate.

(Just so you know, you think you're being soooo sneaky about watching me and you're really not. Way to be obvious, babe.)

I thought that now would be a good time to tell you that yes, everyone else remembers. A few weeks ago, I met Saïx when he came into town for a business trip, and that set off the chain of events for the last person who hadn't remembered yet. Everyone else has, even Sora, Kairi, Riku, and Namine.

We all remember, but really, if I'm going to tell the whole truth, the _last_ person to remember everything is actually me.

Hard to believe, I know, but it's true.

You were right in that I was the first to remember (and let me tell you, it's really weird to wake up one morning when you're seven and realize that your Uncle Xigbar really is your_ Uncle Xigbar_), but I only knew things about him, conversations that I had with him or about him. So I could only recall the things he had said, or what I thought about him. Everything I knew about myself, I knew in reference to someone else. So I was incomplete until everyone else remembered. But I knew, when I met Xigbar, that there was someone I loved. And someone who loved me back.

Meeting you…. God, was it any wonder that I was suddenly sad all the time when I met both Axel and Roxas and had to face their love (both past and present) and then met you and saw the face of the man I was (am) crazy about, but he didn't even know my name? Add that to the sudden shock of memories that always comes whenever I meet people I knew, and, well…. It hurt, honestly, and even after you remembered your past life, you didn't remember _us_ until later.

And then I got scared, because what if you never remembered us? What if I had just convinced myself that you loved me too? (I'm pretty good at lying to myself. I did it for years when I was younger, trying to convince myself that I was normal.) So I just… took every excuse I could to get the hell out of this before it became real. But then it was real, and I was even more scared.

I'm not anymore.

But none of that matters, really. Because you're here with me now, and I remember everything.

It's a good feeling.

Oh, and about your answer to why you loved me, is that what you answered? I was always too busy just watching your eyes to really pay attention. There was always this…fondness in them, and the tips of your ears would turn red (which I'm sure you never noticed before, because you don't blush a lot, and I never told you because, hehe, I like watching it, it's cute), and you would answer something really cold, but you would always make sure to rub the back of my neck or hand, or something else entirely (I'm sure you know what I'm talking about), and I would know that you were just saying "because I do" even if that's not what you really said.

Boy, that was a long sentence. I'm going to be hearing about grammar from you for a while after this, aren't I?

Oh well. Totally worth it.

And dude, I don't know how cool you _think_ you are, but you're totally corny. It's a good thing, it really is, but seriously, you_ want to know what I had for breakfast?_ Complete and total corn. You're an intellectual badass, and you get all girly when it comes to romance. I'm surprised that there wasn't more of you sighing and moping about me in here- oh wait, that was _everything I just read_.

I'm kidding, I'm kidding, I love you.

Please don't cut me off.

Seriously, though….

I love you, Zexion. Always have. Even when you were being dumb, and a jerk. Don't deny it, you were.

You talk too much (when you decide to talk at all, that is), you're sarcastic and cutting and wonderful and _mine_, and I can't imagine anywhere else I'd ever want to go but here anymore. To steal some things from you….

I am Demyx, Number Nine of the Organization Thirteen, lover and boyfriend of Zexion. I am three-and-twenty years of age (and who talks like that, huh? Seriously, who _ever_ talked like that?), and a musician who had to drop out of college in order to find all of these people who were only half-formed shadows in my mind. I smile too much, and I talk too loud, and I sing for no good reason, but you love me anyway, so it doesn't seem to matter.

And I want you more than anything I've ever wanted before.

I'm not all that good with words, but I think I manage to get my point across sometimes, so…. I love you. A lot. And now that you have me, I'm not going to leave you easily.

You'll never have to look for me again.

_-Demyx Jubilate-_

_A tanned hand shuts the journal, lingering on the brown leather cover for only a second before the blond musician stands and hurries out to the living room. There is a large blush on his cheeks, and he keeps trying to check his smile. However, it refuses to go away._

_He finds the pale man curled in the windowsill, the pen in his hand tapping nervously against the papers he has in his lap. At the sound of the blonde entering the room, his head jerks up, cobalt eyes wide._

_Zexion barely has time to brace himself before the musician has knelt beside him, kissing him fiercely. He breathlessly makes some comment about appreciating the gift, and Demyx just shakes his head, kisses him again, murmurs something that is lost in Zexion's skin. _

_They twine around each other, and all is made anew._

* * *

Oh my god, I am SO GLAD this is done. I hope you all enjoyed the ride (I did, obviously, but I don't count), and I'm sorry for the wait on this last chapter! *bows* To make up for it, it's super long? (Not sure if that's a good thing…)

Notes on this Chapter:

1 – I hope that reading Demyx's entry at the end will clear up his reasons for doing a few things. If it doesn't, or if there's some inconsistency in my logic (there probably is) let me know.

2 – Demyx's moniker - Jubilate - A song or an outburst of joy and triumph. Well, I thought it was appropriate.

3 – I'D LIKE TO THANK MY ROOMMATE TYNA, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have been able to get some of the second argument in here done, because I got horrendously stuck. I asked her about it, and we furiously texted back and forth until we got it all. Thanks, Captain!

Just so you know that I do have other projects: I have a one-shot that's about half-done, and another chaptered fic that I can finally work on now that this is done! If you want more information on them, had over to my LiveJournal, and there should be a few snippets of them.

Thanks for reading!


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